


a maniac's new love song (punish you for pleasure and pleasure you with pain)

by voxofthevoid



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Cock Cages, Dimension Travel, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Humiliation, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mean Dom Steve, Possessive Sex, Prayer Circle for Bucky's Asshole, Selfcest, Sharing, Threesome, Under-negotiated Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26998825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: Bucky doesn’t plan any of it. But he’s kind of an impulsive guy, and when he sees an opportunity waving its nice, strong arms at him, he leaps into them.The door to the guest room is open when Bucky passes by on the way to the laundry room. His sideways glance is an absent, instinctual thing, right up to the point he sees James’s half-naked body and stops in his tracks.Bucky knows he’s hot, alright? Sure, there were all those years when he didn’t—couldn’t—give a fuck about attractiveness and attraction because he was a squid-puppet, but vanity was quick to come back once he stopped being a brainwashed piece of ass in bondage leather. Steve helped, mostly because he kept looking at Bucky like he wanted to eat him alive.Point is, he knows he’s hot, but it’s one thing to whistle at his own reflection and another to look at his alternate self from another universe and think, “Mm, I’d ride that.”-Bucky seduces himself. Steve has a thing or two to say about that.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/James "Bucky" Barnes, James "Bucky" Barnes/James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 120
Kudos: 603





	a maniac's new love song (punish you for pleasure and pleasure you with pain)

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another [multiverse fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22981930/chapters/54942922), and not the last one you'll be seeing from me.
> 
> The title is fairly literal. Those who want spoilers can find it [here](https://voxofthevoid.tumblr.com/post/631659986775408640/hey-vox-could-you-give-me-spoilers-for-a).
> 
> Art by ko— it's NSFW, so guard your screen well. Also, you can head over to her tumblr to join [the prayer circle for Bucky’s asshole](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/post/631720334838661121/steve-rogers-wants-you-to-join-the-prayer-circle) ;)

* * *

* * *

Bucky doesn’t plan any of it. But he’s kind of an impulsive guy, and when he sees an opportunity waving its nice, strong arms at him, he leaps into them.

The door to the guest room is open when Bucky passes by on the way to the laundry room. His sideways glance is an absent, instinctual thing, right up to the point he sees James’s half-naked body and stops in his tracks.

Bucky knows he’s hot, alright? Sure, there were all those years when he didn’t—couldn’t—give a fuck about attractiveness and attraction because he was a squid-puppet, but vanity was quick to come back once he stopped being a brainwashed piece of ass in bondage leather. Steve helped, mostly because he kept looking at Bucky like he wanted to eat him alive.

Point is, he knows he’s hot, but it’s one thing to whistle at his own reflection and another to look at his alternate self from another universe and think, “Mm, I’d ride that.”

It’s probably because James is closer to Steve in physique than Bucky, who’s all lean muscle and streamlined precision. James is bulky, with biceps as big as Bucky’s head and thighs that could crush his skull. These are things he noticed the first time their guests materialized, literally, in their living room, but those were idle musings without any intent behind them. It’s different now, looking at James with his bare chest and its obscene blend of soft flesh and hard muscle. He’s got tits that are begging for someone to bury their face in them and abs you could break a brick on. It’s one hell of a combination and goes right to Bucky’s dick.

He should stop it here, not make it weird. Alright, wanting to bang your alt-self is already fucking weird, but it doesn’t count if no one knows. Bucky should walk away and jerk off and goad Steve into putting him through the shower stall tonight, which is what he usually does when something gets him so riled up. They always talk about it afterwards.

But then James clears his throat, and Bucky looks up and realizes that James has been staring at Bucky stare at his tits and alright, decision made.

“Can I help you?” James asks, and he sounds—and looks—like he can’t decide whether he should be amused or bemused.

Bucky steps into the door and tries to be subtle as he nudges the door to close halfway.

“Just admiring the view,” he says because subtlety, thy name is not James Buchanan Barnes.

James’s eyebrows make a break for the stratosphere.

“Right,” he drawls in the way of a Barnes who has no fucking clue how to react and is trying to seem cool while he scrambles to find the words. Bucky can see the moment he gives up. “You mind?”

He gestures at his jeans, the fly already unbuttoned. He’s clearly asking for Bucky to step out and give him privacy, but Bucky just closes the door the rest of the way and leans back against it, smiling sweetly.

“Of course I don’t,” he says.

There’s a moment when James just stands there, staring like a deer in headlights. Then, he laughs, and Bucky takes a deep breath and lets his body relax on the exhale.

“Do _you_ mind?” he asks, and this time, he’s not being a little shit.

James shakes his head, still chuckling.

“What the hell, stranger shit has happened. But you know what, if you want a dick-measuring contest, might as well make it fair?”

Bucky opens his mouth to point out that comparison is really not his intention here. But then he closes it and shrugs, stepping away from the door and taking his shirt off in one, smooth motion.

James takes him in with a keen gaze.

“Tiny little thing, aren’t you?” he asks. “Steve doesn’t feed you, kid?”

Bucky gives him an unimpressed look, but he can’t protest, mostly because James is more or less justified in his choice of words. Yes, James has a few decades on him, and hell yes, Bucky’s tiny compared to him. Steve and Grant are still bigger than the two of them, fucking behemoths from thumb to dick—Bucky can only speak for Steve’s dick, but he and Grant are too damn similar for him to believe otherwise—and if James is anything like Bucky, that’s the opposite of a problem.

“If Steve fed me, I’d die, serum be damned.”

James laughs. His metal fingers are idly playing with his waistband.

“Fair enough,” he says. “Ste—Grant can’t cook for shit either.”

“Good to know some things don’t change.”

James hums, but he’s not looking at Bucky’s face anymore. He’s running his eyes down his torso. They linger on his left shoulder. Bucky’s still got the arm Hydra gave him because he was a fresh-faced recruit in the military when Hydra killed Howard Stark for his version of the serum. They’ve had enough time to compare life histories, or at least the important bits. He wonders, not for the first time, whether the shifting silver plates make James uncomfortable. He doesn’t seem to be. Whenever Bucky catches him looking, it’s at the circles of blue and white that Steve painted around the red star. Bucky called it reclamation. Steve didn’t call it anything, just pained what Bucky wanted, but his eyes said something softer, sweeter.

Sentimental fucker, his Steve. Bucky loves him desperately.

Bucky holds out his left arm. James jerks his eyes back to his face, a little startled.

“You can touch,” Bucky says. “I know you’ve wanted to.”

James opens his mouth, a denial in the narrowing of his eyes. But then he doesn’t say anything, just steps forward tentatively, coming to a stop with barely a foot of space between their bodies.

He lays his right hand on Bucky’s left shoulder, fingers brushing the knotted scars there.

“You can too,” James murmurs, not quite meeting Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky complies. He’s been curious too. The vibranium is smooth to the touch and warmer than his own adamantium-titanium alloy. He runs his hand down one of the gold lines threaded through the whole arm, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the faint grooves. James, predictably, is tracing the outer circle of Steve’s shield.

“I wanted him on me,” Bucky says, circling James’s wrist with his hand. “Would have carved him into my skin if I could have.”

They’re close enough that he can feel James shudder.

“I understand,” James says. He’s breathless. “I still try, in any way I can.”

Bucky looks James in the eye. It’s a moment of simple understanding. He steps closer, pressing their bare torsos flush together. James makes a startled sound but doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t want to compare dicks,” Bucky says, leaning in, close enough to steal a kiss. “But—show me yours, I’ll show you mine, and we can see where we go from there.”

James lets out a high-pitched bark of laughter.

“You’re serious,” he says, and it’s not a question.

Bucky links their fingers together, calloused flesh on gold-veined metal.

“Steve, sorry _Grant_ , is still in the house,” James warns him, still not pulling away.

“I know. It’s a pity my Steve isn’t.”

“Christ. Kid—”

“You can’t tell me you’re not curious. And imagine how they’d react.”

“We’re the same fucking person.”

“Exactly.”

“Fuck,” James snaps, and then he’s kissing Bucky, sudden and consuming.

The way he was acting, Bucky thought he’d be at least a little shy about it, but he just fucking goes at it, tongue and teeth and all. Bucky just lets it happen for a few seconds, stunned by James’s ferocity, but then he shudders back to life and gives as good as he gets, and damn, is he getting it good.

This isn’t how he kisses Steve. He just opens up for Steve and goes sweet and limp at the first sting of teeth, letting Steve fuck his mouth with his tongue and bite his lips bloody and anything, _anything_ , but James makes him snarl and bite back, almost violent in his reciprocation.

He untangles their joined fingers and reaches up with both hands to grab James’s chest, grabbing generous handfuls of his pecs. James makes a sharp, shocked sound into his mouth, lips going slack for a moment, and that’s all Bucky needs to lick inside, groaning at the warmth of James’s mouth. He swipes his thumbs over soft nipples until they harden, and then he rubs some more, just to get James gasping against his mouth.

The shocked stillness doesn’t last long before James growls into the kiss and slides his arms around Bucky to grope at his ass. The worn sweatpants he’s wearing isn’t much of a barrier between James’s touch and Bucky’s bare skin, and he’s never been happier that he goes commando in his own home. James squeezes his ass, rough and on the edge of painful the way Bucky likes it, and he can’t help the needy jerk of his hips. His half-hard cock grinds against James’s denim-clad thigh, and the friction makes him clench up all over.

“Jesus, you’re easy,” James breaks the kiss to say, grinning none too pleasantly.

Bucky reluctantly lets go of one soft pec, not without a final squeeze that wipes the grin off James’s face and puts dark-eyed want in its place, and slides that hand into James’s unbuttoned jeans to cup him through his underwear. The telltale bulge there twitches obediently against his palm, and James looks down at his crotch a betrayed expression.

“We’re both easy, pal,” Bucky says, and James laughs, half incredulous, half aroused.

“We really doing this?”

Bucky answers by kissing him and James kisses back, hard and good like he’s never had a doubt either. It gets wet and messy because it’s tough to try very hard to make a person lose their goddamn mind when they’re doing the same to you. It’s easier with Steve because Steve looks at him with that glint in his eyes and Bucky turns to putty, but it’s not the same, mad attraction ruling this. James doesn’t make the rest of the world go grey and blurred, but he’s sure a man who knows how to kiss and work a dick.

Someone makes a noise like a dying duck, and it’s not James or Bucky.

They break the kiss and turn their heads in tandem. Grant’s at the door, wide-eyed and maybe a little faint, which is a reasonable reaction for a man who just witnessed his husband and his doppelganger making out half-naked.

Shock is quick to turn into something else entirely as Grant’s eyes flick from where their hands are down each other’s pants to how their mouths are swollen red from kissing.

Bucky’s the one to break the pregnant silence.

“You guys have those comments on social media, where people keep saying it’d be real nice to be in the middle of a supersoldier sandwich?”

Grant blinks at Bucky like he can’t quite process English yet.

“Yeah,” James says, voice pleasantly raspy. “It’s weird, but I prefer those over the frothing homophobes.”

“Same. But you know, I finally get where they’re coming from.”

He looks meaningfully at Grant.

“Oh,” James breathes from beside him. “ _Oh_ , fuck.”

Grant looks between the two of them for another few seconds. The way his jaw sets is familiar, so is the gleam in his pretty blue eyes; Bucky would know that particular Steven Grant Rogers Expression on any version of his lover, and his asshole is entirely justified in clenching up in anticipation.

Grant strides across the room, those long legs eating up the distance in a matter of seconds. He slots into place behind Bucky, and there’s nothing shy or tentative about the way he presses his chest to Bucky’s clothed back.

“Your Steve won’t mind?” Grant asks but doesn’t wait for an answer before he sets his oversized paws on Bucky’s waist. Between him and James, Bucky really does feel tiny. He likes it.

Steve _will_ mind, but not like that. They’ve managed to cohabit with their alternate selves for over a week without getting too freaky, but well, that was bound to end eventually.

“Nah,” Bucky says, not quite a lie. “He’ll just he disappointed he missed out.”

“We can wait,” James suggests oh-so-helpfully. “There’s no hurry.”

Bucky gives his dick a nice squeeze and has the pleasure of seeing James go cross-eyed. Behind him, Grant makes a hungry noise.

“No,” Bucky says, “we’re not.”

“We’re not,” James agrees dazedly, tilting his hips into Bucky’s hand.

Grant says nothing, but his hands squeeze Bucky tight and he buries his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, mouth opening to breathe hot against the sensitive skin there.

Bucky shudders. James’s hands tighten on his ass, fingers digging into the insides of both cheeks, tantalizingly close to his hole. He arches back into it, and that makes him press against Grant too. It makes him feel trapped, caught between pillars of solid heat, and fuck if that doesn’t get him all twisted up inside.

James kisses him, tongue sliding into his mouth, and Grant’s teeth catch on his skin, and Bucky’s brain happily blanks.

-

They end up naked in bed, somehow.

Bucky, when he has the brain cells to spare, keeps being surprised at how easy they caved, folding Bucky between their bodies like it’s the most natural thing in the world. There’s a familiarity to the way they touch each other that Bucky recognizes as an echo of how he and Steve reach for each other. It’s different, seeing it from the outside, and it’s surreal, being pulled into the middle of it with no hesitation whatsoever.

That’s why he voices the question, surprising him more than anyone.

“Are you sure?”

The timing could have been better. He’s kneeling on the bed between James and Grant. James has a hand on his cock and Grant has wet fingers rubbing teasing circles on his hole. The air smells of sweat and sex.

“Yes,” James says, and he’s smiling crookedly, amused and exasperated. “Are you?”

“We could stop,” Grant says, sickeningly sincere except that Bucky can feel him grin against his shoulder and prod harder at his hole. “Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, Bucky.”

“First of all, fuck you,” Bucky says, laughing in spite of himself, that momentary doubt giving way to a flood of familiar warmth, the kind only Steve elicits, but then, Grant is Steve, named for convenience. It’s the affection he feels for James that catches Bucky off-guard the most. He didn’t know he had it in him to feel so such softness for himself, even another him.

Grant slides in two fingers and whatever else Bucky could have said dies a sudden, keening death.

“Too much?” Grant asks, and for the life of him, Bucky can’t tell whether the question is sincere or a taunt.

He pushes back into Grant’s fingers, taking them to the knuckle. He’s got big fingers, long and thick, but it’s not like Bucky’s not used cramming that and more up his ass on a daily basis. He likes the stretch, the hurt, and he knows his Steve loves to make him sob for it, but Grant’s more of an enigma. He sure doesn’t seem to mind Bucky fucking himself on his fingers. By the glint in James’s eyes, he’s not opposed to the show either.

“Alright, alright,” Grant says, arms tightening around Bucky’s waist just as his fingers crook inside of him. “I got you.”

Bucky arches against him, which pushes his dick into James’s loose fist, and the blend of sensations gets him gasping, the sounds kissed off his lips by James. His tongue slides in deep, flicking filthily over Bucky’s, coaxing it out to play. It’s hard to focus when Grant is having far too much fun behind him, edging in a third finger while the other two crook and tug. He doesn’t even make a cursory attempt to find Bucky’s prostate, and Bucky’s pretty sure that’s deliberate, but he doesn’t mind. He’s too worked up as it is, and James is _not_ helping, scraping his teeth over Bucky’s tongue and sucking on the ache.

Bucky manages to gather himself enough to put both hands on James’s ample chest and push him away, panting as their mouths part with a wet sound. James looks at him with darkened eyes and licks his lips. Bucky’s helpless not to track the motion, clenching hard enough Grant’s fingers.

He digs his fingers into James’s pecs, fat and muscle bunching under his skin. It’s not payback, just desperation, but the effect is gorgeous. James flushes a dark red and his eyes flutter shut, a little moan escaping him.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” Grant whispers into Bucky’s ear like they’re sharing a secret. “Acts so tough but gets so sweet if you touch him right.”

“F-fuck you,” James says, but his voice is thin and high from Bucky’s fingers tugging at his nipples and only proves Grant right.

“You sensitive there too, Bucky?” Grant asks, the hand he doesn’t have buried in Bucky’s ass shifting his stranglehold on Bucky to grope at his pecs. He scrapes his thumbnail over a nipple, and Bucky’s whole body jolts. “Christ, I can feel you clenching.”

The words make him do it again, muscles tightening almost painfully around Grant’s fingers.

“You need more, don’t you?” Grant says, voice dropping, all sweet and filthy. “Fingers ain’t enough.”

Bucky moans, and James echoes the sound. His hand’s still around Bucky’s cock, but it’s an absent touch. His chest is all puffed up, pushing into Bucky’s hand even as he squirms like he wants to get away.

“Well?” Grant asks, spreading his fingers wide like giving Bucky a taste of what he could have. “You want more, Bucky?”

“Don’t tease,” Bucky gasps. “Fuck me.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“He’s an asshole,” James says, gruff but with a fond smile aimed over Bucky’s shoulder.

“You married this asshole,” Grant says happily, and Bucky would be offended by the two fuckers sweettalking each other while working him over, but honestly, it’s sweet and more than a little reassuring to see that they’re still a pair of cheesy fuckers on the other side of some eight decades of forced, intermittent separation.

That’s when Grant chooses to pull out his fingers and the sudden gaping emptiness wipes all thought from Bucky’s head, leaving only desperate need.

“Wait, please—”

“Ssh,” James soothes, pressing closer.

Bucky shifts his hold on him, turning it into an embrace. It’s nice to hold each other like this. James is soft and warm, and there’s comfort in the way he touches Bucky, stroking his cock gently and kissing him deep. Bucky clings to him and tries to just breathe, hyperaware of the slick sounds behind him.

Steve’s cock presses against his hole, and Bucky’s rim clenches up like it can’t decide whether it’s a threat or a promise.

“Relax,” Grant tells him, and it’s gratifying to hear how deep his voice has gone.

He spreads Bucky’s cheeks, wide enough that it aches, and Bucky whimpers into James’s mouth. James makes that soothing sound again, turning their kiss gentle, lips moving sweetly over Bucky’s mouth and jaw. Bucky’s loath to break away from him so he doesn’t and talks with his body instead, shoving his hips back. The pressure at his hole turns bright and blinding as the head pops in.

“Jesus Christ,” Grant swears and starts to push in the rest of the way.

Bucky scores his nails down James’s back and gets his cock jacked rough and tight for his trouble. It’s not a half-bad distraction. James knows what to do with a dick in his hand, and maybe he and Bucky like it the same way because there’s an easy confidence to how he slides the foreskin back and taps a nail against the sensitive head, laughing when he swallows Bucky’s pained whine. It’s enough to drive anyone crazy, James’s hands and his mouth a gentle counterpart to the searing press of Grant’s cock, which seems to go on forever. The sheer size of him knocks the air out of Bucky’s lungs each and every time, and it doesn’t matter how many times he spreads his legs and his lips for it, he still ends up choking on overwhelming sensation.

But fuck, he loves it.

Grant bottoms out, finally, and Bucky tears his mouth away from James’s to collapse against Grant’s broad chest. Hands sidle up his sides immediately, their touch firm but gentle.

“It’s alright,” Grant says, nuzzling Bucky’s temple. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart.”

Bucky turns his head, and Grant’s there like he read his mind, brushing soft lips against Bucky’s jaw and trailing them along the edge until they reach his mouth and press gently, then not so gently, kissing him good and deep. And it’s the easiest thing, almost instinct, to sigh into his mouth and let him tease out the tension with lazy swipes of his tongue.

Someone swears, and it takes Bucky a second to place James. His voice is low and strained, nothing at all like Bucky’s gets when he’s wound tight, but then, James doesn’t sound like Bucky at all, his own voice echoing in his skull a wholly different thing from hearing it out of another pair of lips.

Bucky pulls away from the kiss and lets his head loll against Grant’s shoulders. He peers half-lidded at James, half a taunt, half a challenge.

James laughs, a startled bark of a sound, and leans in to kiss Grant, trapping Bucky between the hot press of their bodies. He doesn’t mind, welcomes the heat and the pressure, and god, anything would be worth this view—James and Grant, their mouths open and hungry together, tongues twining wetly together. They kiss like they’ve been doing it all their lives, smiles and want all mixed up together.

James breaks the kiss and draws back, gaze flicking to Bucky and widening.

“Huh,” he says, a corner of his mouth ticking up. “You liked that.”

“‘Course I did. It’s fucking hot.”

Grant laughs, a deep, full-bodied sound that Bucky can feel all over his body, _inside_ him. He hisses, squirming against Grant, which just makes his cock press in on places that make Bucky go cross-eyed and weak. He tightens around Grant, and their answering cries reverberate in the room.

“Don’t tease, Stevie,” James says, smirking with dark eyes. “Can’t you see he’s gagging for it?”

“As if you’d be any dif—ah, _ah_.”

Grant sucks on his neck and grinds into him, those huge hands wrapped tight around Bucky’s hips, keeping him there on his knees for Grant to fuck into. It’s slow, lazy, like he’s got all the time in the world to take Bucky apart. Bucky’s head spins, its fragile edges unraveling at the relentless wave of pleasure, gentle and consuming. He reaches back for Grant both hands, the metal one clutching bruises on one thick thigh, the other tangling in his thick hair and tugging. Grant hums into his neck and sucks another burning mark there, all the while his hips roll against Bucky’s, slow and sure.

Bucky whines and pries his eyes open and finds himself pinned by James’s piercing stare. Nothing about him hides how much he’s enjoying the view; his pupils are blown wide and his cock is flushed red. But he doesn’t touch himself, just watches, intent and hungry. His gaze trails down Bucky’s heaving, sweat-slick body.

“I want to blow him,” he says suddenly.

Grant detaches his mouth from Bucky’s throat, reluctantly, teeth grazing the skin as he pulls away.

“Of course you do,” Grant says, amused and indulgent. “I know how you get, Buck. Go ahead.”

James shudders, and Bucky clenches up in sympathy and something else too. It goes to his head, the way they’re discussing his pleasure like he’s not even here. He bites back a whine, but he doesn’t do a very good job of it. Grant laughs before setting his teeth to Bucky’s lobe, tugging sharply at the delicate flesh.

And James—

James folds down to all fours.

“Oh god,” Bucky breathes, staring wide-eyed at James as he leans in to brush his mouth against Bucky’s cockhead, a whisper-soft touch that still sends lightning up his spine.

“I know,” Grant says, hands tightening on either side of Bucky. “He’s got a mouth made for it, doesn’t he?”

Bucky keens, and even he doesn’t know whether it’s from the words or James taking him in, sudden and deep, with a moan of his own.

“Oh yeah, guess that means you’re the same,” Grant says, affecting an absent tone like he’s not screwing his cock deep into Bucky and watching his husband deepthroat a cock. And god damn him, it works, gets Bucky squirming and desperate, makes James whimper around his mouthful.

It’s something about that tone, composed and commanding, that reminds Bucky of something he shouldn’t have forgotten to begin with. But then, Grant starts fucking him—not harder but _sharper_ , pulling out maybe an inch before slamming back in, keeping Bucky full every moment and fucking him through it, and James makes it worse, mouth hot and _wet_ around Bucky’s cock as he takes it deep and gags and keeps sucking through the tight constriction of his throat. It’s maddening, consuming, and Bucky knows he’s not allowed, knows he can’t come, but when he reaches for James, it’s only to tangle his fingers in his short, thick hair and fuck up into his throat.

James moans at that, lips going slack and eyes drifting shut, letting Bucky use his mouth with an expression that can only be called peaceful.

Grant’s body shudders behind Bucky’s, and he fucks him with growing vigor, his rough, lazy rhythm turning erratic and brutal. Each thrust shoves Bucky forward, shoves his cock deeper into James, who whines and takes it, his body arched beautifully.

Bucky doesn’t stand a chance.

Grant snakes a hand up his front, dragging his nails over Bucky’s abs and chest before it finds his nipple and twists. Bucky cries out, the sound turning into a high-pitched whimper when Grant fucks into him just right, cock sliding fever-hot along Bucky’s prostate.

“You close, sweetheart?” Grant asks and sinks his teeth into Bucky’s shoulder and James does _something_ with his _throat_ —

Bucky comes so hard, he whites out for a second, body going taut between the cock his ass and the mouth on his dick.

James swallows every drop, lips and tongue working greedily, and Grant pets him as he trembles, speared through with mind-numbing pleasure. He softens in James’s mouth, and it’s almost reluctant, the way James pulls off, inch by inch, dragging his lips over Bucky’s spent dick. Grant never stops moving, fucking into Bucky like he’s got all day to come, like Bucky’s not spasming desperately with each searing drag of Grant’s cock over his oversensitive prostate. 

“Please,” he whimpers, tugging at James’s hair and clawing at Grant’s thigh.

James sits back on his knees and wipes his mouth, heavy-lidded and smug. Grant kisses the spot he bit and pants into Bucky’s neck as he finally lets go, the last of his control snapping.

He comes with a groan that trembles against Bucky’s skin, hips grinding deep, come filling him up and spilling out, first a faint trickle and then a fucking flood of it when Grant’s softening cock slips out of him.

Bucky lets out a shuddering breath, the whole of him hot from the afterglow and the filthy wetness inside him. He loves it when Steve comes in him, never stops being hungry for it, and Steve has a few choice names for that; even the thought of it makes Bucky flush and bite back a moan.

It's sudden. One second, Grant is a lump of post-orgasmic mass against his back and the next, Bucky’s being grabbed from behind in a rough embrace. The two of them topple backwards, Bucky sprawled over Grant’s broad bulk. Grant slides his legs between Bucky’s and spreads them with his knees. More come drips out of his hole, thin lines of heat that gets Bucky clenching around nothing.

James is there suddenly, looming over the two of them with a bright glint in his eyes.

“Go on,” Grant says, legs nudging Bucky’s even wider until they’re spread obscenely. “You want to come, don’t you?”

Oh, _oh_ fuck.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” Bucky asks, and it would be a legitimate complaint if it didn’t come out breathless and borderline desperate.

James smirks at him, wide and knowing.

“You can say yes,” he tells Bucky, already settling between their legs, hand wrapped loosely around his own cock. “Scream it even. I can see you want to.”

Bucky shivers, but somehow, it’s easier to shut up and take the taunting when it’s Steve or Grant saying it. His own mirror saying the same—it gets him hot, of course it does, it can’t not when James is looming over him like a gleaming god, muscled and scarred and solid. But it rankles too, in that fun way that makes Bucky want to bite back.

“You’d know,” he says, even as he spreads his legs wider and raises his hips for James to press into him.

James grunts an acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything, too focused on their bodies, and when his cockhead presses up against Bucky’s fucked-loose rim and starts to push inside, just like that, Bucky runs out of air too.

James feels different, of course he feels different, unfamiliar, because it’s not like Bucky clone-a-cocked his own dick and fucked himself with it. He’s thick and long, and he doesn’t fill him up the way Steve does—nothing will, it’s not just Bucky’s holes that Steve stuffs shut, it’s all the gaping hollows inside of him too—but he’s still a hell of a stretch. Bucky’s sore muscles twinge and clench, and it’s beautiful, what it does to James. His face is screwed into an expression of pained pleasure, mouth open and eyes tightly shut, every breath a ragged pant.

Bucky’s filled with the strangest tenderness for him.

He reaches for him, cradling his face gently before tugging him down for a kiss. James almost collapses into it, panting wetly into Bucky’s mouth. They kiss, gentle and deep, and Grant’s there too, one hand on either of them, stroking soothingly.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” James asks when they part, though he doesn’t seem to mind, voice light and mouth curved up.

“Only as weird as you blowing me,” Bucky assures him, tightening his ass around James to drive the point home.

James’s breath stutters, but Bucky’s the one left squirming from the sheer fullness inside. He does it again, can’t help it, and groans when his gut tightens almost painfully. His body’s burning, his blood on fire.

“Christ,” James breathes, eyes wide on Bucky’s face. “Look at you.”

Bucky squirms at the helpless awe in his voice, pleased but wanting to shy away a little. James moans but doesn’t move, doesn’t fuck Bucky the way they both want.

“Jealous?” Bucky asks, shaping his mouth into a sharp smile.

James blinks. Behind Bucky, Grant lets out an entertained huff.

“What, you don’t want to be where I am?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow. He’s impressed at how level his voice is, the desperate heat inside of him not making a single syllable waver. “C’mon, I know you, I _am_ you. You want this, wanna be fucked full and again until you don’t know which way’s up.”

That does the trick.

James shoves in, sudden and rough, eyes wide like he’s startled by his own reaction. Grant’s body shakes with silent laughter, and he sprawls one of his oversized paws over Bucky’s belly, heedless of the cooling mess there.

Bucky takes that as approval and hums, baring his throat in an invitation that Grant accepts with teeth and tongue.

James moves again, hips jerking in short thrusts, harsh and uncontrolled, like he can’t not move. Bucky would wrap his legs around him, hold him tight, but Grant’s still got his legs on the insides of Bucky’s, leaving him no choice but to just lie there, spread open, and god, that’s fucking hot.

James kisses him, and it’s all teeth, like he wants to make Bucky bleed. Bucky kisses back, sharp and hard, though there’s no finesse to it, all of him throbbing with sensation. James keeps fucking him like that, rough and without rhythm, needy little whines passing from his lips to Bucky’s. And Grant’s mouth is burning fresh bruises along Bucky’s throat, and there’s teeth sinking hard into his lips, and Bucky’s reduced all too soon into a limp, whimpering thing trapped between two large bodies and their scorching heat.

“So what if I do?” James asks, pulling back from the kiss with blood on his lips. He licks it away and Bucky’s hips jerk up, taking James deep; twin, shuddering cries pierce the air.

It takes a few seconds for James’s question to register, and then another for Bucky to remember the context.

“Y’should talk to Steve,” Bucky says, somehow wrangling his tongue to form coherent sounds. “He’s kinda easy.”

Grant laughs, but James’s eyes glaze over. He licks his lips again, and his eyes are dark, cheeks flushed, and Bucky can tell he likes the idea. He can feel it too, in the way James’s fingers are pressing into his hips and holding him steady for the deep plunge of his cock.

“Maybe you could take us both. Me and your Steve. Don’t you think so, Bucky?”

Grant’s the one who speaks, shocking Bucky into silence and spurring James into thrusts that tremble with uncontrolled violence.

“Y-yeah,” he manages to say. “I—he could.”

“Mmhm.” Grant kisses his way up Bucky’s neck, gentle things that contrast sharply with the way his husband is fucking Bucky like he wants to fuse their bodies together. “You could too, huh? Take us both?”

Bucky takes that as the warning it is, all too familiar with the mind of Steve fucking Rogers, but there’s nothing he can do but scream when Grant’s fingers press into him, right alongside James’s cock.

“Steve!” James shouts, whole body shuddering. He stops moving, every inch of him tense as he hovers over the two of them. “Fuck, what are you—”

“Keep moving, Buck,” Grant says, and it’s not Bucky he’s talking to but that softly edged _Buck_ makes sparks him up everywhere inside. “He can take it.”

James turns wide, blown eyes to Bucky who nods, his own face flushed hot. But James doesn’t move. Grant does, another finger sliding in alongside the first, and Bucky can’t even scream at the stretch because it burns the breath right out of his throat.

James groans like he’s the one getting torn up inside.

“Tell him to move, Bucky,” Grant orders, tone deceptively gentle. He crooks his fingers, and Bucky’s whole body arches. “Ssh, go on. I’ll stop once he comes. Make him.”

“M-move,” Bucky whimpers, clawing at James’s arm, half to ground himself. “I can—I can take it.”

James shudders, thrusting into Bucky, a helpless grind more than anything with intent. Grant’s fingers just stay inside, all pressed up against wet, clenching muscle, but the pressure’s maddening enough, he doesn’t need to do anything more to get Bucky keening.

“Please, please,” he begs, scoring red line down James’s arm, drawing dots of red. “Fuck me, please, _come on_.”

James does. His expression twists into agonized pleasure and there’s no technique to it, just unbridled want and desperation. Bucky burns with every thrust, and fuck, his cock’s hard again, flushed red, and James and Grant make it gush precome with every frantic thrust and minute shift in angle.

And then Grant wraps his other hand around it, and Bucky cries out a garbled warning.

“I can’t, don’t—I _can’t_.”

“’Course you can, sweetheart,” Grant murmurs, all sweet now. “Look at you, you’re aching for it.”

“No, you don’t—I’m not allowed, not supposed to—not without Steve.”

James makes a needy, high-pitched sound and starts slamming into Bucky, every last reservation evaporating. He’s got eyes screwed shut and lips bitten raw, and the sight goes right to Bucky’s dick, gets it twitching in Grant’s fist.

“Oh,” Grant breathes, and Bucky does _not_ like this marveling tone. “That how it is? But you came already.”

And he’s going to pay for that, but it’s sure as fuck going to be worse if he comes _twice_.

Grant starts stroking him, long, wet strokes that aren’t tentative, not quite, but the kind Bucky could stop of he’d just reach down and grab Grant’s wrist. He fingers twitch, but he just sinks them deeper into James’s skin, gets him fucking deeper with a groan.

Grant tightens his grips, strokes Bucky harder in perfect counterpoint to James’s thrusts. His other hand’s still got two fingers buried and still inside Bucky, just keeping him stretched wide and aching.

“Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, isn’t it, Buck?”

 _No_ , not at all, not with Steve and Grant knows it; _James_ knows it, letting out a laugh that’s strangled by the pleasure straining every inch of his being.

“Ple—”

Grant kisses him, the angle sloppy and awkward until Bucky turns into it, opening his mouth for Grant to lick into. It’s a surrender without words, and they take it as such. Grant jerks him off with intent written into each flick of his wrist and every slide of this thumb over the head. James lifts Bucky’s hips up and slams into his prostate, fucking his ass while Grant fucks his mouth.

And Bucky comes, clenching around James’s cock and keening into Grant’s mouth, writhing between their bodies. James follows, spilling hot into Bucky, setting off another pulse of pleasure that wrings him down to the bone.

James pulls out of him, leaving behind a wet mess. Bucky feels sore and loose and used, muscles all gone limp against Grant. He lets himself be maneuvered off Grant and on to the mattress. James presses up to his front while Grant plasters himself across Bucky’s back, sandwiching him between their behemoth bodies, not unlike before but with a very different intent.

“This is sweet,” Bucky says, lifting one arm just enough that he can flop it over James’s and hold him back.

“We’re sweet guys,” Grant says. He’s hard again, Bucky can feel it, but he doesn’t seem interested in doing anything with it.

“The sweetest,” James adds, and he sounds sleepy. Sweet too, nuzzling Bucky’s hair and playing with the long strands.

“Tell that to my poor ass.”

“Hey, now,” Grant says, tone all mock-protest. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

Bucky thinks of Steve, somewhere in the Tower with Rhodes and the rest.

“I did,” he says. He hides a smile against James’s neck. “I _will_.”

-

It’s around four hours later that Bucky emerges from the guest room, dressed in clothes that definitely show they’ve been yanked off in a hurry and left crumpled on the floor for hours. They’re not as incriminating as Bucky’s bruised neck and awkward gait though. He needs a shower; Grant did clean him up, leaving their cuddlepile to return soon after with a wet towel, but Bucky’s still messy inside. He’ll clean up and get dressed, and Steve will still know, but maybe Bucky will get enough time to sweeten him up first.

He closes the door behind him, careful not to disturb Grant and James. They stirred when he left the bed but didn’t really wake, reaching for each other when Bucky’s warmth vanished from between them. It was sweet sight, one that transfixed Bucky for more than a few seconds.

He turns around, intending to make a beeline for his own room, and flattens himself against the door at the sight that greets him.

Steve doesn’t look up from where he’s sprawled causally on the armchair with a book in his lap. As Bucky stares, heart pounding in his throat, Steve turns another page.

“S-Steve?”

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greets, eyes not wavering from his book. “Good day?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. His body’s tightening up, hot and cold in turns. It’s not fear—well, it is, but it’s the good kind of fear, where he knows he’s safe no matter how mean Steve gets, that Steve will kiss it better after.

He chokes down words that won’t have anything resembling coherency and creeps further into the room. He stops right behind the couch, opposite Steve. Like this, Steve’s won’t be able to see his lower half and the tear in his sweatpants from when Grant yanked it off, but as Steve’s silence grown suffocating, Bucky understands that Steve doesn’t need any physical evidence to know what happened.

Steve’s still turning pages, one every eight seconds. It’s his standard speed, but only when he’s reading mission reports. He takes his time with recreational reading, backtracking often to reread passages. He says it’s his way of savoring it, forcing his quicksilver mind to slow down and drink it in.

The book in his hand is a colorful copy of some supernatural fiction, but the pages turns every eight seconds like clockwork.

Bucky waits a good fifteen minutes, forcing himself to breathe deep and even. But Steve doesn’t crack, and Bucky doesn’t know why he expected anything different.

“When did you get home?” he asks, wincing at how small he sounds. He might as well scream his guilt from the rooftop with obvious he’s being, though god knows Steve doesn’t need any help figuring Bucky out.

“While back.” Steve says. “Meeting ended early. Stayed here and enjoyed the show. Went and changed when it ended. I was starting to wonder when you’d come out.”

“I—Steve…”

Maybe it’s the waver in his voice and how he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, though he isn’t, not really. But Steve looks up and closes his book, putting it aside with slow deliberation. He doesn’t get up, doesn’t even blink, just stares at Bucky with eyes that seem to spear into his soul.

“You had fun?”

Bucky’s spine snaps straight and he has to cling to the top of the couch with his fingertips so that he won’t do something that will dig this hole deeper, like crawl to Steve and try to blow his way into forgiveness.

“Well?” Steve prods when no answer is forthcoming, tone deceptively mild.

Bucky nods once, a jerking motion.

Steve finally stands. He really did change. He left in jeans and a white button-down that made Bucky itch to pull him into bed and never let him out. Now, he’s in boxers and a loose, worn tee that Bucky likes to steal out of the laundry basket. He should look soft and harmless. He’s anything but, making Bucky quiver from the other side of the room.

“That’s nice,” he says, making his way towards Bucky with slow, stalking strides. “Why don’t you show me?”

“Wh-what?”

Steve shrugs, coming around the couch and stopping within arm’s reach of Bucky. He cocks his head to the side, pinning Bucky with his unsmiling stare.

“You can just tell me but seems you’re having problem with words. Fine then. How many times?”

Bucky swallows, throat dry and aching. Steve’s eyes narrow. He steps closer and in one, lightning-fast motion, grabs Bucky by the chin, fingers digging cruelly into his jaw.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Bucky doesn’t think, just speaks.

“Once, just once.”

Steve lets of his chin and slaps him hard across the face.

Bucky stumbles, pitching forward, cock filling fast enough to make his head spin. He collapses against Steve. A hand curls around his nape and squeezes in warning.

“You know I don’t like you lying to me, Buck.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers. It’s not a planned thing, dropping to his knees. It’s just natural, sliding down Steve while clinging to him. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

He looks up. Steve’s still got a hand on his nape, but it slides around to cup his face, fingers gentle over the swelling cheek. There will be a hell of a bruise soon, and Steve’s staring at the spot like he can imagine it perfectly. He can, he should, he’s done this to Bucky often enough to know how his body will showcase its myriad of hurts.

“I like you on your knees,” Steve says, an absent compliment. “Did they?”

Bucky flushes, the heat from Steve’s blow burning hotter from a flood of embarrassment.

“They don’t—I didn’t—”

“Of course you did,” Steve says, smiling now, the expression anything but nice. “You just can’t help it, Buck. But not like this, huh? You didn’t get this sweet for them. This is for me.”

“Yes, Steve,” Bucky agrees, tongue shaping the words clumsily, head swimming already. “It’s yours, I’m yours.”

“I’m glad you remember,” Steve says, smile widening, sharpening. “Now, answer me.”

It takes Bucky a few moments to remember the question that sent him toppling to his knees. With each passing second, Steve’s grip tightens, shifting from a soft caress to something brutal and bruising. 

“Twice,” he gasps, whole face throbbing with heat and pain. “It was twice.”

“You got fucked twice or you came twice?”

The way Steve’s asking, probing, makes Bucky wonder how much of it he really overheard. Maybe he was there for the whole of it, the three of them too distracted by their tangled bodies to hear him.

He doesn’t dwell on it too long, acutely aware of Steve’s patience wearing thin.

“Both,” he mumbles, looking down at Steve’s feet.

There’s a long sigh from above.

Steve lets go of him with a light slap to the same cheek he hit. There’s barely any force to it, but Bucky lets his head loll to the side, hair falling over his face like a curtain. Steve pushes it aside. He’s predictable like that; he likes seeing Bucky’s face and what he’s done to it. He likes seeing Bucky.

A calloused thumb prods at his lips, and Bucky parts his lips, sucks it in. Makes it good.

Steve says nothing but he lets Bucky blow his finger like it’s his dick. He’s not unaffected. Bucky can see the tent in his boxers, hear his deepening breaths, but Steve’s never as controlled as he is when Bucky’s trembling at his feet. He takes his thumb away, wiping it on Bucky’s chin. It’s filthy, degrading, and Bucky’s cock is so hard, it hurts.

“On your feet,” Steve orders, and Bucky damn near trips over himself obeying.

Steve steadies him with hands on either side of his waist, but it’s a punishing grip, tight enough to leave finger-shaped bruises. He squeezes like he can contain all of Bucky into the wide span of his palms, and it doesn’t matter that it’s impossible, Bucky still burns hot for it.

“Show me,” Steve says, no longer a question.

“How?” Bucky murmurs, eyes still on Steve’s feet.

“Use your fucking imagination. You’re not lacking in it.”

Sometimes, Bucky wonders if he bit off more than he can chew when he and Steve plunged headlong into this dynamic. It’s what he wants, what he needs, but god, there are times when Steve strips the skin off his bones with just his words and his eyes, and it leaves Bucky raw and broken open, all his messy insides torn out and left to rot.

Except—except they’re not. Steve scoops it all up, cradles them in hands that are as gentle as they’re cruel, and he treasures them more than Bucky thinks he can ever treasure himself. One day, maybe, but now he’s got Steve to do it for him, to love him when he can and when he can’t, through sickness and health and dust drifting across a blood-soaked battlefield.

Bucky strips, fingers stiff and limbs jerky. Steve doesn’t help him, but he’s got a look in his eyes like he wants to take Bucky and peel him layer by layer.

He hesitates when he’s naked, but Steve just pins him with a steely stare, demanding compliance without even breathing a word. Bucky turns away from him, still feeling Steve’s eyes like a physical weight.

He bends over the back of the couch, sticking his ass out. It leaves him exposed, _obscene_ , which is what Steve wants, he knows.

But Steve just clicks his tongue, impatient and disappointed.

“ _Show_ me, Bucky.”

Bucky knows what he wants, of course he does. He knows Steve’s mind almost better than he knows his own and can predict the exquisite filth that unfurls within the confines of that pretty blond head. But knowing and doing are two different beasts.

Still, he acts before Steve has to ask again. He reaches back with both hands and spreads his ass, exposing his hole. It twitches at the sudden rush of cool air and the weight of Steve’s gaze. The weight is very real the next moment, when Steve’s thumb comes to rest over it, a light, groping touch.

“You’re loose,” he states in a voice curiously devoid of inflection. “Fucked out. Should’ve known I couldn’t leave you here alone.”

“No, that’s not—”

“Shut up.”

Bucky shuts up.

“Twice, huh?”

“Y-yes.”

Steve pushes the thumb inside. It stings; Bucky’s sore from taking Grant and James, but he’s not that loose either, tightening up some in the hours he spent dozing between them. He’s tight enough and sensitive enough that Steve’s thumb inside is more pain than pleasure, and Steve knows it, is using it.

“Please,” Bucky whimpers, blinking away tears, only for more to drip down his cheeks. He doesn’t usually cry this easy, but then, these are strange circumstances, different from anything they’ve ever done. He’s never fucked anyone else before, never wanted to. He only did it because the men sleeping in the other room are Steve and Bucky in all the ways that count—mirrored souls.

This is new territory, and that makes his stomach crawl up his throat, but he trusts Steve, trusts his touch.

Steve tugs harshly at the rim, and Bucky bites through his lips smothering a shout.

“Could just shove in,” Steve says, quiet and distant like he’s not even talking to Bucky. “You’re open enough for it.”

He’s not, he’s _not_.

“D-don’t, please,” Bucky says, and he doesn’t have to fake the terrified pitch of his voice. Steve won’t, he knows that, but the fear’s real anyway, clogging his blood like sludge and dripping wetly out the head of his cock. “Please, it’ll hurt, please.”

Steve lets out a harsh exhale, loud and ragged with want. Bucky knows what the sight of him cowed and desperate does to Steve. He wonders, often, which one of them is the bigger pervert and decides, always, that all it really means is that they were put on this earth for each other. It’s the only thing that makes sense sometimes; they found each other across decades, from opposing sides of a fascist organization, over five years of a madman’s apocalypse.

Steve leans over him, pressing his body over Bucky’s, letting him feel the strength coiled in those muscles. His thumb stays inside Bucky, hooked over him rim, rough and proprietary.

“Shouldn’t have left you here alone,” Steve tells him quietly, breath falling softly on Bucky’s ear. “I know how you get. Just couldn’t wait, could you? Fucked you in the morning, didn’t I? What, wasn’t it good enough?”

“No, no, it’s not that, you know it’s not.” Bucky knows he’s playing right into Steve’s hands, but what else can he say? “It was good, Steve, s’always good with you.”

Steve’s drives his thumb in to the knuckle, its blunt nail digging into the yielding muscles inside. The sting robs Bucky of thought and breath.

“Sure,” Steve draws, dripping sarcasm. “That’s why you went and spread your legs for the closest available dick.”

“No,” Bucky says, but then Steve’s shoving in another finger, spreading Bucky on thumb and forefinger, a harsh, awkward stretch that burns something fierce. Anything he could have said withers on his tongue, and all that escapes are little, pleading whines.

“I know you’re a slut,” Steve says casually, speaking over Bucky’s wordless yelp of protest. “Know you can’t go a day without getting fucked. Didn’t think it got this bad. Maybe I should get you one of those machines, hm? Leave you tied to it when I’m gone, every hole stuffed. That what you want?”

Bucky can’t do anything but moan, cock throbbing at Steve’s words, arousal flaring white-hot. He imagines it, imagines himself like that, and he can’t help shoving back into Steve’s fingers, clenching hard around the intrusion that’s too much and still not enough.

“Should’ve known,” Steve says, sighing. “You fucked up, Buck. Know why?”

Steve gives Bucky time to gather himself, a dubious kindness.

“Because I came,” Bucky mumbles.

“And not just once, was it?”

“No.”

“How many, Buck? Remind me.”

“Two,” Bucky says in a small voice.

“That’s two too many, sweetheart.”

Steve’s weight disappears off him and his fingers slide out too, too sudden for it to not hurt. Bucky swallows a whimper and stays there, waiting for orders. Steve would have fucked him right here, but with Grant and James in the house, he can’t do that. But Bucky still knows better than to move without permission.

“Stay here,” Steve says. “I need to get some things.”

Bucky’s stomach swoops. He must make some sound, because Steve asks, “What is it?”

“I—here?”

“Nothing wrong with here,” Steve answers easily, almost like he’s been expecting this question. “Nice room, nice couch. I’ve sure fucked you on it enough times. You got a problem with it now?”

“I just—they’re here.”

Steve laughs. He sounds genuinely amused. Bucky’s face burns hotter.

“Nothing they haven’t seen, is it?”

“I didn’t…”

He trails off, throating clicking dry. Steve’s knuckles brush his thigh and trail slowly up to where Bucky’s fingers are dug into his own flesh. The skin he touched tingles, half-discomfort, half-pleasure.

“They didn’t,” Steve echoes softly. “That’s alright then. Let them see how you need it.”

“ _Steve_.”

Steve bends over him again, not putting his weight on Bucky this time. And he’s sweeter too, kissing along Bucky’s shoulder and throat, pressing warm lips to his temple. Bucky’s gut twists and untwists at the tenderness, unsure whether to relax into it or be wary.

When Steve speaks, it’s quiet, voice lowered into a near whisper.

“I need to show them who you belong to, don’t I? They might get ideas after the stunt you pulled.” His hand slots over Bucky’s, rubbing against the flesh bulging out from between his fingers. It creeps further in, sliding between spread cheeks to slap lazily at Bucky’s twitching hole. “Tight little hole like this, I can’t even blame them.”

Bucky’s blood soars in his ears.

“But it’s mine,” Steve says, mouth curving into a smile against Bucky’s cheek. “You’re mine.”

He pulls back then, leaving Bucky bent over the couch with all his blood in his cock and on his face. Steve taps one of Bucky’s wrists, a sharp flicking motion.

“You can let go. I’ve seen what I needed to. Get comfortable. You’ll be here a while.”

Then he walks off, just like that.

Bucky makes a soft sound but words flutter unformed in his throat. He lets go, prying his fingers off his cheeks one by one and bracing his stiff hands on the couch. He doesn’t feel any less exposed, left here like this, waiting for Steve with his heart pounding in his throat. He tries to distract himself, but their living room—moderately sized and cozy with its warm tones and mismatched furniture—seems huge and sprawling, every corner live with unseen eyes. It crawls over his skin, the feeling of being watched.

His eyes flit about, restless as they search for fuck knows what. He stares at the unlit fireplace, the deep blue rug he’s been fucked on more times than he can count, the thick curtains over the windows. It’s a private space, his space, but he’s powerless in it, a slave to Steve’s whims.

He shoots the guest room a wary glance, swallowing thickly at the sight of the half-closed door.

Steve returns then, footsteps loud enough that it’s clear he wants Bucky to hear his approach.

“Look at that,” he says, admiring. “Hell of a view, honey.”

Despite everything, the praise goes to Bucky’s head, makes his gut swoop like it used to when he and Steve were dancing around each other in the early days of their cohabitation. He spreads his legs wider, arches his back, showing off a little.

Steve touches his shoulders and runs his palms down Bucky’s back, all the way to his ass. He grabs them, squeezing tight and teasing, pulling a shaky moan out of Bucky. Then the touch vanishes, only to return when Steve cups his cock with one hand. He laughs when he finds Bucky hard, a low, mean sound.

“There’s just no stopping you, is there, Buck?”

Bucky buries his face in his arms and doesn’t say a word, knowing he’ll only dig himself deeper if he does. Steve tsks.

“I got you something. But this is a problem.”

And he tightens his grip over Bucky’s dick, going from loose to tight and to _tootightpain_ , merciless even when Bucky jolts with a shout. He tries to snap upright, more instinct than intent, but Steve’s there too, shoving his body against Bucky, keeping him right where he is with little effort. Bucky’s cock softens in his grip, every second of it accompanied by pained whimpers.

Steve lets go once he’s soft and flattens his palm over Bucky’s tightly clenched stomach, making shushing noises.

Bucky’s breath hitches on a sob.

Steve brings his other hand around Bucky, and he looks down and freezes at the sight of what he’s holding.

“Yeah,” Steve says, tagging Bucky’s limp dick with the tip of the cock cage. “You need this, honey.”

Bucky whimpers.

Steve pulls him upright. Bucky doesn’t fight him, just numbly follows even the gentlest tug. Steve makes him lean against his chest and rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, those tree-trunk arms cradling Bucky’s frame between them as they work his cock into that ringed steel contraption. Bucky watches Steve’s long fingers and thick wrists, studiously keeping his eyes off what’s being done to him. He can feel it though, the deceptively soft touches followed by the cold kiss of steel.

Finally, the tiny lock clicks shut with a barely audible sound.

Steve runs a palm along Bucky’s caged cock, gentle and fond.

“Cute little thing,” he says, a smile on his voice. “Don’t you think so, Buck?”

Bucky says nothing.

Steve’s hand slides up his belly, his chest, absently tweaking a nipple before it creeps higher and wraps around Bucky’s throat, loose but with a threat inherent in the light touch. That’s how Steve kisses him, the heel of his hand pressed to Bucky’s pulse. Bucky opens up for him almost gratefully, letting Steve kiss him good and wet and deep. He stops thinking, reduced to the taste of Steve’s mouth and the touch of his hands.

Steve’s mercy doesn’t last long. He breaks the kiss with a soft murmur of Bucky’s name and unceremoniously shoves him back over the couch. Bucky lets his chest slam into the back of it and only gets his arms under him when Steve tells him, in a tone both kind and patronizing, to _get comfortable, sweetheart_.

Steve leans over the back of the couch, rummaging in the cushions for the lube that made its way there at some point and keeps being magically replaced each time it runs empty. Bucky rests his cheek on his forearm and watches him, eyeing his muscled torso and sculped jaw with that sense of awe that hasn’t quite gone away, years into their relationship. He’s beautiful, his Steve, a devil in an angel’s skin.

Steve fishes out the lube and catches Bucky looking. He smiles, soft despite everything, and steals a kiss, pulling back before Bucky can do more than sigh at the sudden warmth against his mouth. He whines but Steve just swats his ass, humming in approval when Bucky jolts with a yelp.

“Ready?” he asks.

Bucky arches his back in response, wriggling his ass in enticement. Steve laughs, deep and genuine.

“Brat,” he says fondly, sliding between Bucky’s spread legs, buffeting him with his warmth. “Be quiet now.”

There’s the snick of a cap and familiar slick sounds. Bucky braces himself, tensing and relaxing in turns as hands—one wet, the other dry—grab his ass and spreads it wide.

Steve’s cock nudges his hole, and Bucky’s not surprised that he’s not getting any prep, could have guessed as much from the way Steve’s been, but it still makes his breath catch, fear and want curling into a tight, hot ball in his gut.

“Wait—” he yelps, just as Steve drives in deep.

The word turns into a scream, and Bucky’s anything but quiet, at least until Steve’s palm slaps over his mouth, muffling him roughly. He pulls out, cock dragging along Bucky’s insides, sharp and hot like a hook sinking into his gut, and slams back in with fine savagery. Bucky sinks his teeth into the meat of Steve’s palm, but he doesn’t even flinch, fucking Bucky without a break in his rhythm, turning him within seconds into a writhing mess of burning sensation.

Steve takes his hand away and Bucky gasps wetly, cheeks wet with tears, salt stinging his tongue.

“I can’t,” he whines, whole body tightening, skin to muscle, when Steve changes his angle, turns it shallow, and rams into his prostate.

“You can, you will,” Steve says, a gruff command. “And you’ll like it.”

“Please, pl—”

He chokes on the plea when Steve _speeds up_ , ramming into Bucky, ratting the couch with the force of his thrusts. Bucky rocks helplessly each time Steve’s cock spears into him, yanked back and forth like a rag doll. His cock’s a heavy weight, dangling in its cage of steel, swollen and aching with no hope of release.

But Steve’s right. He can take it, and he likes it, oh god.

“That’s it,” Steve says when Bucky’s sounds change from whimpering pleas to gasps of pleasure, and there’s no hiding anything from Steve, not when he knows Bucky’s body better than he does. “Told you, sweetheart. You’re a slut.”

“N-no,” Bucky rasps, dragging the sounds up his raw, aching throat. “M’not, I don’t—”

“You are,” Steve growls, and he’s close, Bucky can tell.

He tries to protest again, but Steve yanks his hips back and slams in at just the right angle to white out Bucky’s brain. The heat hits then, Steve spilling into him with a cry. He fucks Bucky through it, sliding over and over into his own mess, pushing it out and making it drip down Bucky’s thigh. He doesn’t soften a bit, and that drives Bucky wild, gets him clenching hard around Steve in a vain attempt to wring the last bit of pleasure out of him.

Steve pulls out, and the emptiness is daunting even though Bucky was begging for just that when Steve started. Now, he can’t breathe with how hollow he is. He’s still soaked in wet heat, some of it trickling slowly out, but even that’s just a reminder of how good to feels to have Steve in him.

For a while, he just waits, knowing Steve’s still hard and would want to be inside him again. But Steve seems content to catch his breath at Bucky’s back. He touches him, prying his cheeks aside to survey his handiwork and smoothing his broad palm along Bucky’s spine. It’s nice, a unique mix of arousing and comforting, but as the seconds crawl past and Steve gives no indication of fucking him again, Bucky has to take matters into his own hands.

He flattens himself more, stretching out his torso as much as he can. His ass bumps into Steve’s legs, and Steve shuffles back to make space with a low, amused sound.

“Need anything, Buck?”

Bucky throws him an unimpressed look over his shoulder, but from the way Steve’s eyes darken further, it probably looks inviting instead, which suits Bucky just fine.

Steve smirks, and that’s a dangerous expression. He proves as much, sliding three fingers into Bucky, shoving them past the gaping rim without so much as breaking eye contact. Bucky tightens helplessly around the intrusion, muscles sore but sucking Steve in anyway, wet and eager for it.

“You want it again already,” Steve says, and it’s not a question. “Ain’t a slut, huh?”

Bucky keeps his mouth shut, well aware that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, not when he’s begging with his whole damn body for Steve to fuck him stupid again. Steve slides his fingers out, slow and teasing, pausing every second to rub gently into any spot that strikes his fancy.

“So soft inside, honey,” Steve says, and there’s no mockery in his voice this time, just unbridled awe. “Made for this, weren’t you?”

Bucky melts a little, humming his agreement. He likes that, thinking he was made for this, made for Steve, his body an instrument of pleasure and not a weapon of destruction.

“You want it?” Steve asks, resting the pads of his fingers over Bucky’s rim like he’s holding him closed—Steve keeping his hole safe and shut until he decides to use it again.

Bucky shudders and grinds back, just a little, whining.

“That’s a yes.”

The fingers draw away, but Steve’s cock takes their place, the head resting idly against Bucky’s rim, not even pushing though he could. All it would take is just a little pressure and he’d be inside Bucky again, but he just _stands_ there.

“Please,” Bucky says, knowing better than to shove back and take it into himself. Steve will give him what he deserves. “Steve, come on, please.”

“I don’t know. We were talking, weren’t we? What were we talking about, Buck?”

Bucky’s brain blanks. But Steve strokes his hair and reminds him, because he’s nice like that.

“You want my cock, honey?”

“ _Yes_ , please, Steve.”

“Ssh, I know. I know you want it, you always do. What’s that make you, Buck?”

Realization settles hot and electric on his spine. He hides his face in his arms, shivering at how hot his face is. He knows he makes a pretty picture, bent and submissive like this, and he knows it’s a long shot, but he still hopes Steve breaks first.

He doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. Bucky’s the one brought begging to his knees, growing more desperate as the seconds crawl by and Steve stays still behind him, cockhead resting idly against Bucky’s rim, teasing with the promise of everything he could have if he’d just—

“A slut,” he mumbles.

Steve’s hand in his hair tightens suddenly and yanks Bucky’s head back, forcing him to cry out.

“What was that?” Steve asks softly. “Didn’t catch it.”

“I’m a slut!” Bucky yelps, and god, he feels it, standing there wet and open and panting.

Steve’s touch gentles, letting Bucky hang his head again.

“And what do sluts want, sweetheart?”

It’s not fair, the way Steve makes endearments drip condescension. He knows what it does to Bucky, that combination of saccharine sweetness and deftly wielded cruelty.

“Want—want it inside.”

A shake this time, stinging his scalp and jolting like fire through Bucky’s whole body.

“Want _what_?”

“You cock,” Bucky whimpers, every breath a ragged gasp. “I want your cock, please, Steve, give it to me, I need it.”

“There you go,” Steve says, darkly pleased, and that tone goes right to Bucky’s dick too. “Ain’t just me you’ll spread your legs for though, isn’t it?”

“I—it’s not—it’s different—”

“Is it now,” Steve drawls, ripping skepticism, and it doesn’t matter that Bucky _knows_ Steve knows it’s different, the question still makes him flush hot with shame. “Guess you just can’t help it, Buck. It’s fine. You’ll always come back to me in the end.”

Steve spreads his cheek a little and rubs his cockhead against Bucky’s crack, smearing precome over the sensitive skin there. His hole twitches, needy, and it takes everything Bucky has to stay still and not fuck back, take it deep.

“I will,” he whispers, soft and true.

“You will,” Steve echoes. “Why’s that, Buck?”

And this—this Bucky knows.

“Because I’m yours.”

Steve fucks into him in one, sharp thrust.

Bucky howls.

“That’s right,” Steve says, balls-deep and trembling with it. “You belong to me.”

“Yes,” Bucky gasps, fucked full and damn near delirious with it. “Yes, yours, yes.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve grunts, and it’s gratifying, the strain evident in his voice as he fucks every coherent thought out of Bucky’s head. The hand in his hair slides down and around his neck, curving around his jaw. “Think they got the message.”

Bucky doesn’t get it, not at first, too focused on the wet slide of Steve’s cock inside him and the fingers wrapped around his jaw on just this side of threatening. But then Steve turns his head to the side, rough and none too gentle, and Bucky sees them.

James is standing in the guest room’s open doorway, filling it in all his shirtless glory. Grant’s visible as an arm around James’s waist and a tuft of blond hair at his shoulder. Bucky blinks, half-hoping they’ll fade away like a mirage. But they’re there, they’re real, and they’re staring at Bucky. James’s expression is blank in that studied way Bucky recognizes from his own reflection. Grant has less of a poker face, but most of it’s hidden in James’s hair. All Bucky can see are his darkened eyes, piercing even from across the room.

Bucky’s blood turns cold and then soars into an inferno.

His cock throbs in its cold confines, a building ache.

“Steve, th—”

That’s all he’s allowed to say before Steve’s fingers slide into his mouth, three thick digits that stuff him full with the same, burning solidity of Steve’s cock in his ass.

Bucky closes his lips around his teeth and sucks, want and instinct all wrapped up into a pulsing weight in his gut.

“That’s it,” Steve croons, grinding into Bucky, hard and hot. “Put on a fucking show.”

He says it like an accusation, but he’s the one who fucks Bucky’s mouth with his fingers, sliding them in and out, wet and dirty. Bucky lets them in easy, mouth slack and eager, and works his tongue over the fingers with the same sloppy care he gives Steve’s cock even when he’s choking on it. Steve shivers when the tip of Bucky’s tongue tease at the webbing between his fingers. Spit dribbles down his chin, and fuck, he’s a mess, but Steve likes it. James and Grant, silent voyeurs, might like it too.

Steve pulls his hand away suddenly, and Bucky barely has time to gulp in a breath before Steve’s cock tears free of his hole, turning his breath into a mournful whine. But Steve’s hands are on him the next second, wet and sticky with lube and worse but strong, solid as they grab Bucky by the thighs and shoulders. Bucky braces himself on the couch with his left arm as Steve turns him to the side and yanks his leg up by the knee. It’s a precarious position, but Steve’s gripping him tight and secure, pushing Bucky’s leg up against his chest as his cock slides back home.

The knee Bucky’s got under him almost gives away as the new angle makes pleasure spark up the length of his spine. He cries out, sharp and startled, and Steve grins, pulling out to slam back in. Stars burst under Bucky’s lids, his body turning to molten lava.

And Steve—he can go a damn long time once he’s come already, patience and perseverance joining to form a lethal blend that’s left Bucky boneless and whimpering more times than he can count. It’s a hell of a time to remember that; all it does it make him clench up all over, milking Steve’s cock helplessly even as his own cock throbs in its cage, the flesh of it swollen red through the bars of steel. It hurts and hurts to look at, but Bucky can’t stop watching the way it bounces as Steve pounds into him.

Steve hikes Bucky’s leg a little higher, knee almost flush to his stomach, and he does— _something_ with his hips, his cock, and Bucky’s higher brain functions promptly exit the picture.

He comes back, god knows when, to a body overheated and overwhelmed, and an ass drenched with a fresh load of come. Steve’s softening cock slips out, he lets go of Bucky’s leg, and it’s the same hand jolting out to gather him into a clumsy hold that stops Bucky from collapsing to the floor in a puddle of sweat and come. He goes limp instead, content to be held tight in constraining arms like he’s an unwieldy stuffed toy.

Steve kisses him, hard and a little off-center, lips landing with a smacking sound on the side of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky turns into it, a minute shift that slots their mouths together. It’s not much of a kiss, just open lips and shared breath.

Steve draws away once he’s had his fill, and it’s honestly impressive how he’s still landing after two consecutive orgasms when Bucky has halfway transformed into cooked spaghetti.

“You want a turn?” Steve asks, and for a second, Bucky thinks Steve’s taking mercy and offering to take the cage off, but then it registers that Steve’s looking elsewhere and speaking with a forced lightness that’s nothing like the casual assholery he whips out for Bucky.

It strikes him then, what Steve means, what he’s offering, and Bucky’s knees give way again, not that it matters when Steve’s got him wrapped so tight in his arms.

“I—” he starts to say, not quite sure what he wants to, but—

“Ssh, honey,” Steve says, quieting Bucky without even looking at him. “I’m not talking to you.”

Bucky hides his face in Steve’s chest with a whimper. He’s turned on, the whole of him on fire, and it only hurts, cock and balls swollen and aching in Steve’s little torture device. He tries, weak and clumsy but desperate, to rub off against Steve’s thigh, but there’s no relief to it with the cage so tight around him.

“Behave,” Steve murmurs under his breath, swatting Bucky’s ass half-heartedly. Then, louder, he asks, “Well? You can’t be bored of him already, I know his…charms.”

Someone snorts.

Bucky pushes his face further into Steve’s chest, squirming with how hot it gets him to hear talk about him like he’s not here—no, not like that, like he’s here but doesn’t matter, because he belongs to Steve, and Steve decides what he is, who he fucks.

“Can he take it?” asks a voice that’s almost identical to Steve’s but isn’t because Grant’s got a more even tone, all soft, affected calm.

“He can,” Steve says, sweeping Bucky into his arms in one, smoothly violent motion. “You’d be surprised at how long he can last.”

It’s praise, detached like Steve’s talking about a very nice toy he bought from that place three blocks over. Bucky doesn’t if it’s pleasure or embarrassment that stuns him silent and makes him burn, and he doesn’t much care, not when Steve’s carrying him around the couch and pouring him into the thick rug in front of it, laying him out on his back.

Steve straightens back up, looming over Bucky’s prone form. He’s not even looking at Bucky, staring off to the side instead with a challenging expression. His eyes are sharp, flickering over movement that Bucky can’t bring himself to look at.

He doesn’t have to, in the end.

Grant comes to stand beside Steve, two looming giants. He’s looking down at Bucky, but Steve’s looking at Grant, an intent, measuring gaze. James doesn’t join the fucking party—and fuck, that would make Bucky the centerpiece—but Bucky can see him in his peripheral vision, standing by the couch.

“Go on,” Steve says after a few beats have passed. Grant pries his eyes off Bucky to meet Steve’s. “Be good to him.”

“Want me to be gentle?”

Steve smiles, thin and sharp.

“No. Wouldn’t be very good for him.”

Bucky bites his lips. Grant looks down at him again, eyes a shade darker.

“Yeah,” he says, voice gone deep and rough. “Guess it wouldn’t be.”

Steve’s still looking at Grant, and Bucky can see the exact moment he makes the decision. He smiles, small and lopsided, and doesn’t give Grant much warning before kissing him.

“Fuck,” someone swears, and for a second, Bucky thinks he said it, but then he realizes it was James.

It’s not a very deep kiss, but it’s nowhere near chaste either. Steve pulls back with wet lips and licks them. Grant blinks at him, shock remaining at the corners of his wide eyes and parted lips, but then he laughs, cheeks flushing.

“Not bad,” he says.

Steve smirks at him, then bends down, kissing Bucky without letting any other part of them touch. Bucky arches into it, reaching out, but Steve pulls away with a soft, shushing sound.

“Be good,” he says. “I’ll be watching.”

He walks away, not far, lowering himself on the couch, sitting there in all his naked glory, beautiful and powerful. As Bucky stares, helpless to tear his eyes away, James sits down beside him. And he doesn’t miss it, the way Steve’s eyes snap to him and run appreciatively down his bare torso. He imagines it, Steve and James all tangled together the way he teased earlier, and fucking _fuck_ , there’s an image.

Warm hands push his legs apart and a large body settles between them.

For some reason, Bucky expects Grant to ask again, check of it’s okay. And he does, but it’s not with words but with hands running up Bucky’s thighs, fingers digging softly into the flesh like they’re admiring the give of it. He never once looks away from Bucky’s eyes, until he closes them and wraps his legs loosely around Grant, exposing himself, giving in.

Grant’s gentler than Steve was, despite what he said. He doesn’t tease either, just slides in, slow and steady, cock settling into Bucky’s come-drenched ass like it’s meant to be there. His sore muscles twinge in half-hearted protest, but the dull ache knots tight in his gut.

Grant kisses him.

Bucky slides both arms around him and kisses back, wet and open-mouthed. He’s putting on a show, but Steve can’t complain, not when he’s the one who told Bucky to do it in the first place.

Grant laughs into the kiss like he knows exactly what Bucky’s thinking.

“You’re sweet, aren’t you?” he asks without letting their mouths part. “Should’ve known.”

Bucky shuts him up with a tongue in his mouth. Grant sucks on it, teeth closing around the tip, a sharp sting that makes Bucky jolt pleasantly. Grant starts moving then, flat over Bucky, their bodies pulsing together with each slow stroke of Grant’s cock. Bucky doesn’t take long to stop kissing back with any intent, reduced to panting against his mouth as excruciating pleasure claws its way up his body. Grant is slow and relentless, his thrusts deep and pressing into Bucky’s prostate with unmistakable intent. His caged cock throbs painfully with each brush, balls swollen and sensitive to the lightest movement, and Bucky wants so badly to come, and it makes everything more intense, knowing he can’t, that Steve won’t budge no matter how prettily he begs.

“There we go,” Grant murmurs against Bucky’s slack mouth. “I like you like this. Maybe he was right to be worried.”

“F-fuck you,” Bucky grits out, but Grant just laughs again, fucks him _deeper_ , and the next sound out of him is a shuddering wail.

He tosses his head to the side, needing to do something, anything, as reprieve. He’s been fucked five times in half a day, and it might be more if Steve has anything to say about it, and Bucky’s body reminding him sharply that serum or not, he’s flesh and blood, and there’s a limit to how much he can burn before he burns out. He wouldn’t mind, is the thing. Not if it’s Steve. Bucky would give him everything, body and heart and soul, and watch Steve swallow it all whole.

He turns his head, seeking the sight of him because Grant’s gorgeous and fucks like a god, but Steve is the one who’s _his_.

The view of the couch tears a moan out of him.

James has his own hand slapped over his mouth, the metal one, the other tangled in Steve’s hair, clenching in and tugging at the golden strands while Steve sucks bruises into James’s neck. Bucky’s own throat aches in memory and sympathy, but his whole body seizes up when Steve trails his red, open mouth down James’s body and buries his face between his pecs.

“Look,” he says without looking at Grant, physically incapable of prying his stare off the entwined bodies on the couch. There’s something haphazard and rushed to their position, James under Steve with one leg around his back, like they didn’t plan this, it just happened, lust sucking them into its orbit.

He can feel the exact moment Grant sees them. He slams into Bucky, losing his carefully curated rhythm, and goes still, buried balls-deep. They watch them together, one pair of sex-drenched bodies mesmerized by another.

Steve, mouthing intently at James’s chest, doesn’t notice or at least pretends not to. Bucky can understand. He’s got the best fucking pair of tits, and even now, split around Grant’s cock and gagging with it, he aches at the memory of having James’s soft, powerful body under his hands, his mouth.

James notices, turning his head to catch them watching, half-lidded eyes fluttering shut like he just can’t take it. They flash open again, flitting over Bucky’s face before settling on Grant. And Steve must do something, god knows that man’s got a mouth made for sin, because James’s whole body jolts suddenly, a startled cry spilling from his lips.

Grant starts moving again, his slow, building rhythm replaced by something faster, more frantic. Bucky can’t even blame him. His own blood’s on fire watching Steve and James, and he can’t tell whether it’s jealousy or arousal or some potent mix of both.

Grant grunts, almost pained, and Bucky soothes him without thought, making soft noises and guiding Grant’s neck to rest at the crook of his neck. Grant comes easily, mouth opening to pant hotly against Bucky’s skin while his cock screws deep into him, hard and frantic. Bucky strokes Grant’s hair and watches Steve bruise up James’s pretty chest and burns hotter than the stars.

“I’m gonna—” Grant gasps, a rushed warning that’s realized a few seconds later when he spills into Bucky, hips working through every pulse of wet heat.

Bucky moans at the sensation. There’s something about this, being filled with come again and again, that makes him feel animalistic and _filthy_ , all dirtied up inside and fucking loving it.

Grant pulls out gently and collapses panting beside Bucky.

Steve finally raises his head from James’s body and licks his swollen lips as he surveys his handiwork. James pulls him down into a kiss, and Bucky’s whole body throbs in frustrated need as their mouths and tongues meet. They part and Steve’s eyes find Bucky’s, their blue dark and incandescent.

Bucky reaches for him, stretching out a shaking hand.

Steve slides off James, off the couch, and Bucky is absently aware of Grant’s heat vanishing from his side, but’s only got eyes for Steve. He lifts Bucky again, one arm under his knees and the other across his back, holding him to his chest like he’s a child. Bucky kisses him, and Steve says something, soft and incoherent, against his lips, kissing back with something like reverence.

“We’re going to our room,” Steve says, drawing away. “That alright?”

“Yeah,” James croaks. He’s got Grant attached to his chest now; Bucky didn’t see him make his way to the couch. “We’re, uh, we’re—fuck—fine, we’re fine.”

“I can see that,” Steve says, fond and suggestive, and Bucky watches in abject fascination as James flushes a bright red all the way down his neck.

Steve doesn’t linger, making way to their bedroom with long, hurried strides. He kicks the door shut, and his hold on Bucky doesn’t waver even once. Bucky half-expects to the thrown on the bed and ravished again, which might actually kill him, but he’s long maintained that death by superserumed dick is the way to go. But Steve just sits down on the bed and gently arranges Bucky so that he’s straddling his lap rather than lying on it.

He'd lowered, with equal gentleness, onto Steve’s cock.

Bucky makes a sound that’s Steve’s name broken in a whimper, but he doesn’t shift away, just sits on Steve’s dick like he wants him to. And it’s—it’s good, being filled up, the feverish heat of it heady in a way he can’t name.

Steve gropes around the bed for something. Bucky, his face tucked into Steve’s shoulder, likes feeling his muscles shift, likes being pressed up against all that coiled power.

And then there’s a hand on his caged cock, groping around swollen flesh and cold metal, and the quiet snick of a lock giving way.

Bucky’s mouth falls open on a soundless scream when the toy is slid off his cock.

“Ssh,” Steve says, stroking his hair, tangling fingers in the long, sweat-soaked strands. “Easy, Buck. I’ve got you.”

And he does, hand wrapping around Bucky’s cock, which fills up in a rush of blood that leaves Bucky dizzy and hurting. Then Steve starts stroking, long and lazy, and fucking him too, bouncing Bucky on his lap with almost playful bucks of his hip, and it’s a deluge of pain-pleasure-pain, and Bucky throws his back on a scream that dies in a whimper as he comes and comes and _comes_.

He blacks out, maybe.

He’s aware, dimly, of Steve under him, around him, in him, his strong hands and soft mouth.

When reality reassembles into more than heat and touch, he’s lying on his back and Steve’s between his legs again, for different reasons than before. Bucky peers at him with half-lidded eyes as Steve diligently wipes off the mess running down Bucky’s thighs. His sore hole flares when Steve starts cleaning that up. Bucky hisses, squirming a little, though not as much as he’s tempted to because his limbs feel like wrung towels. Steve runs a soothing hand up Bucky’s leg and stomach, murmuring sweet nothings as he cleans up their mess.

Bucky doesn’t really mind letting Steve’s come coagulate on his skin. Yeah, it’s a pain to peel off later and his body hair fucking suffers, but there’s just something about it, a base and dirty pleasure. Steve even lets him, sometimes, but not tonight. Then again, Bucky’s probably not going to leave the bed next morning. He’s been fucked half to a coma, and he intends to enjoy it.

Steve finishes his mission and crawls up the bed. He smiles at Bucky, leaning down to press a kiss to his brow.

“Hey there,” he says. “You good, honey?”

Bucky finds that coherent words are beyond him at the moment but that he can make enough soft, approving noises to get his message across.

Steve kisses him again, on the mouth this time, sweet and lingering. He lies down beside Bucky and wastes no time wrapping Bucky in his larger frame, cocooning him in a pleasant prison of warmth and muscle. Bucky sinks into it, closing his eyes and nuzzling Steve’s chest. He smells like sex and Steve, a scent that never fails to wrap around all of Bucky’s soft, innermost parts.

He doesn’t know how much times passes like that, in a simple tangle of limbs. Steve keeps touching him, fingers tracing meaningless patterns in Bucky’s sweat and running through his hair and pressing gently into flesh. It’s nice, not being allowed to forget that Steve’s here, that Steve’s got him, that he’ll use Bucky up and make him cry but also hold him after, kiss him all sweet and good.

Steve speaks, a tender eternity later.

“That was inspired.”

Bucky, even half asleep and sex-drunk, doesn’t need to think too much to know what he’s talking about.

“Didn’t plan it,” he says honestly. “Saw James. Wanted him.”

“Can see why. He’s something alright.”

“Mm. Grant too.”

Steve laughs, quiet and fond.

“Yeah. Him too.”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Aw, Buck, it look like I did?”

He sure put on a show of it. But Bucky knows his man, knows what it’s like when he’s honest-to-god angry and when he just wants to wreck Bucky a little, teach him a lesson.

“We should do that again,” Bucky says, yawning and settling back against Steve’s chest. “Wanna see you fuck James. Both of you fuck him.”

“Christ,” Steve swears, and he wants it, Bucky can tell. “Ask the guy first, honey.”

Bucky thinks of James’s expression when he was fucking Bucky, how wild he got at the thought of Steve and Grant in him.

“Think I know his answer.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’d love to hear what you think <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [collab: voxofthevoid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23361448) by [kocuria-visuals (kocuria)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria/pseuds/kocuria-visuals)




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